"My wish? No. I merely observe that what we seek is not so different. Now you seek to claim my son for your household." Melisande leaned back against the couch, relaxed. "And what do you offer for him, your majesty? My freedom? The restoration of my titles and estates?"

The Lady Grosmaine's quill scratched on parchment as she recorded their exchange. Amaury Trente made a noise deep in his throat. "No," Ysandre said finally. "Neither."

Melisande's brows rose beneath her veil. "No?" she asked, mocking. "You offer... nothing? Then does it surprise you that I offer nothing in response?"

"Do you care so little for your own flesh and blood?" Ysandre asked harshly. "You are bound here until you leave or die, Melisande Shahrizai, and it is already decreed that those things are one and the same. I will make no bargains with condemned traitors; and yet you are a mother, are you not? To your son, I offer stature, honor in the eyes of the realm, his rightful role at court. Will you damn him to a lifetime as a pawn? Will you hide behind Asherat's altar and watch while he is made a playing piece for lesser hands seeking to seize the same prize you sought?" Her mouth curled in contempt. "Love as thou wilt. The precept of Blessed Elua is lost on one such as you."

"Do not presume to teach me to love!"

There was an echo of power in those words, sending a jolt the length of my spine. I took a sharp breath, glad of Joscelin's hand resting on the small of my back, steadying me. I was aware, horribly aware, of the way Melisande's veiled eyes flashed with passion.

"Do you truly think I would allow you to raise my only child and turn him against me, Queen of Terre d'Ange?" she asked softly, rising from her couch with deadly grace. "No. Oh, no. There has been no animosity between us. I have always understood, if you have not, that we played a game. Do you take my son, we become enemies."

Ysandre drew back, but did not quail, answering steadily. "You have sought to tear the realm asunder, Melisande Shahrizai. I have always considered you an enemy."

"Have you?" Melisande gave her a cutting smile. "For two years, I have held your life in my hand. If it was only that I wanted ..." turning her head, she reached out to touch the breast of Ysandre's surviving Cassiline Brother with elegant fingers, "... I could have taken it at any time. But I sought the prize, your throne. And for that, I needed to choose a time when I could control the events that followed." Her smile froze in place. "Believe me, your majesty," she said, "you do not want me to regard you as my enemy."

The Cassiline, whose name was Brys no Rinforte, breathed hard, hands twitching above his daggers, sweat beading his brow as he struggled to remain impassive. Like Joscelin, he had witnessed one of his Brethren betray his oath in the most incredible fashion, and he knew full well Melisande was the reason, if not the cause.

"Let him be." Joscelin's sword rang free of its sheath and he pointed it full at her, eyes grim and implacable. "I have faced damnation from more angles than you can number, Kushiel's scion. One more is of no account. Leave be."

"Cassiline." Melisande regarded him coolly, fingertips still resting on the Brother's heaving chest. "Have you faced the loss of your beloved Phèdre's affection? For surely you will earn it, if you take my life."

He looked at me; they all looked at me, even the priestesses and attendants, and I could not think for the clamor in my head, the sound of my blood beating in my ears. I pressed my fingers to my temples and shouted, "Sit down!"

No one sat, but Melisande took a step back and lowered her hand, gesturing for me to speak. Brys no Rinforte exhaled; the Secretary's pen scratched. Ysandre watched without speaking. I looked at Melisande.

"My lady," I whispered. "You know what we seek. Is there any price not named that you will accept?"

I had not planned it, this offer; if I had thought on it, I would have faltered. And yet it was a bargain that had lain on the table between us since those dreadful days and nights when I languished in the prisons of the black isle.

They treated her as royalty, here in the Temple of Asherat-and how not, for she was, noble-born, with a courtier's deadly skill and a mother bereft of her son besides. I had spent many a dark night on La Dolorosa; I knew the extent of Asherat-of-the-Sea's grief. I knew what it meant to those who served the goddess. They would shelter her, for so long as she desired. And they would accommodate her, if she wanted me. Not a small price, no; but mayhap worth it, if it bought peace.

It would bring an end, at last, to the chain of blood-guilt I had seen my life's course forging in the cavern of the thetalos.

There was that.

Slowly, regretfully, Melisande Shahrizai shook her head, setting the blue-black curtain of her hair rippling down her back. "No," she said softly. "Not for this. Not for my son."

I heard Joscelin release a long-pent breath and I straightened, turning to face my Queen. "You have asked." My composed voice sounded like a stranger's to me. "You have been answered, your majesty. Will you hear my counsel?"

"I would," Ysandre said.

"Go home, your majesty," I said simply. "There is a game being played out whether you will it or no, and naught to be won here. Percy de Somerville moves against your throne, even now awaiting word that flies to him on winged hooves. Go home, and defend it."

Ysandre heard me out expressionlessly, and nodded once, rising. "My offer stands," she said to Melisande. "For now. Remember that I have made it." And without waiting for a response, she swept out of the salon, members of her retinue falling in behind her. Melisande remained standing, watching her go, thoughtful behind her gleaming veil.

I gazed at her one last time before I turned to follow my Queen, and what she was thinking, I could not say. Even in defeat, Melisande was unhumbled. Wrenching my gaze away, I followed the departing retinue, and Joscelin's hand rested on my elbow, guiding me when my feet stumbled, anchoring me, his love the dagger by which I fixed the compass of my heart.

In the Temple proper, Lord Amaury Trente railed against the newly annointed Priestess of the Crown, she who had spoken in defense of Melisande's claim of sanctuary and stood now in the place of her predecessor. "Her life is forfeit by D'Angeline law!" he shouted, venting futile anger. "How can you defend such a one, whose honeyed tongue has shed more blood than a warrior's blade?"

Although she was young enough to tremble, she was old enough to stand her ground, raising her chin. "Only those who transgress against the Goddess may we punish, and that we have done in accordance with Her laws. Asherat's regard favors the cobra as well as the lion, my lord. By what authority do you claim otherwise?"

Caught up in my own turmoil, I turned away without awaiting his answer, nearly fetching up against another priestess. This one I knew, old Bianca with her milk-white eyes. Joscelin, hard on my heels, plowed into me from behind as I halted.

"Ah," the ancient woman said, satisfaction in her tone as she raised her hand to feel at my features. "Elua's child, who did his Mother's bidding and cleansed Her household. Truly, you bear Their fingerprints on your soul, child!" She chuckled to herself, "The gods themselves cannot keep Their hands off you. And your faithful shadow, bound to you in light and darkness. Shall I tell your fortune, since you have stood in the place of the Oracle and wrought ours?"

Shivering under her touch, I welcomed the solidity of Joscelin's presence behind me. "Keep your pomegranates, old mother! Let the gods choose some other vessel for a change, and look to their own. I have done my share."

"Neither the fruits of the soil nor the flesh are needed to tell your fate," Bianca said complacently, withered fingertips resting on my skin. "Serve true, and remember what others have named you; ten years' respite shall be yours if you do." Her hand fell away and she blinked like a child, sightless and bewildered. "Thus I am vouchsafed to say, and no more."

"Thank you," I whispered; what else was I to say? Stooping-for age had wizened her so that her head reached no higher than my chin-I embraced her, feeling her bones as frail as a grasshopper. "Blessed Elua keep thee, old mother. It is time for me to go home."

So it was that our audience ended and I left the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea for the last time, following my Queen out of the shadow of its domes into the waiting sunlight. I had kept my vow, made in the watery depths. It was finished, and I felt no victory, only loss and confusion. Members of the Queen's party were tired and frustrated, balked by the Temple's protection of Melisande and fearful of what lay before us.

And yet, with undaunted strength, Ysandre de la Courcel raised her head, gazing unerringly in the direction of home.

"You spoke truly," she said. "We ride for Terre d'Ange."

SEVENTY-EIGHT

It took yet another day to make ready our departure.

There was no time for me to seek out Kazan at the Illyrian Ambassador's; I had guessed aright, on that score. I did see Severio Stregazza, who was present at the Little Court to consult with the Vicomte de Cherevin. Although Ysandre had deferred judgement on the matter, it was tacitly assumed that the claim would eventually be settled in Severio's favor.

It was an awkward meeting, though I was glad he requested it.

"I cannot exactly thank you for bringing destruction to my family, Phèdre nó Delaunay."

"I know," I murmured. "I would that it had been otherwise, Severio. But-"

He cut me off with a gesture. "I know. What my father did was treason. What my mother did was blasphemy. By the grace of Asherat or Elua or Baal-Jupiter, or whosoever watches over me, I am enough unlike them to hate them for it. And yet they are my parents, and I was raised to honor them." He sighed. "You did what was right and necessary. I only wish it had not been."

"What will happen to them?"

"Imprisonment is likely." Severio shrugged. "Perhaps exile. It depends on the Judiciary Tribunal's findings, on the mood of the people and the Consiglio Maggiore, my grandfather's wrath, and too," he added quietly, "it depends on Terre d'Ange."

I knew what he was thinking, although neither of us said it. Marco and Marie-Celeste were not accused of plotting to kill the Doge, merely to supplant him. Their part in the conspiracy to assassinate the Queen of Terre d'Ange was a graver charge. But if matters went ill at home ... if Ysandre lost the throne, no D'Angeline voice would call for Serenissiman justice. It would be Percy de Somerville who ruled, in the name of the rightful heir, Prince Benedicte's son. And if he called for anything, it would likely be the freedom of the infant heir's wrongfully accused mother. 'Twas no wonder Melisande was prepared to wait.

"Terre d'Ange stands under the rule of Ysandre de la Courcel," was all I said.

"Truly, I hope so. I am weary of intrigue tearing my loyalties asunder." Severio took my hand, face somber. He had grown a great deal from the rough-tongued young nobleman I'd met at the Palace. "Phèdre, I do not know if events to come will make enemies or allies of us. If Ysandre falls ... I must stand with La Serenissima, and the city will follow where profit lies. Whosoever rules Terre d'Ange, trade must continue. But know that I will always think fondly of you, and I am sorry for what passed between us before."

"I owe you my life," I said to him. "For that, among other things, I will always be grateful, Prince Severio."

At that he smiled, a little bit. "You taught me to be proud of my D'Angeline heritage, Phèdre nó Delaunay, and to gaze at those parts of myself I despised without fear. It would not, I think, have been so ill a marriage." Bowing, Severio released my hand. "Luck to you, my lady," he said softly. "And warn your Queen not to look to the Doge over-long for support. Once she's left Serenissiman soil, Grandfather will wait to see how matters play out."

I'd never doubted it; but then, Severio was a slow learner in the family business of intrigue. I prayed he remained thus, for he was a better person for it. "Thank you, my lord, and Blessed Elua keep you in his regard."

This was my final farewell in the city of La Serenissima, for we departed the next day at dawn, escorted on the Doge's mighty ships to the D'Angeline encampment on the mainland. My heart swelled to see the bright silken tents with all their pennants fluttering, glossy-hided horses at pasture, hundreds of D'Angeline faces waiting expectantly!

So many ... and yet so few, when one reckoned the odds. The entourage of the progressus regalis numbered a mere seven hundred, of which nearly two hundred were household attendants, cooks, grooms, seamstresses, hairdressers, poets, musicians and the like. Two dozen noble peers, men and women alike, accompanied the Queen; the number set down in ritual centuries ago. Some had brought their families and men-at-arms. It made me nervous to see children in the entourage-for there were several-knowing the danger we were leaving behind, and the danger that lay ahead.

The progressus has never been intended as a show of D'Angeline force in Caerdicca Unitas; it is an act of respect and mutual trust. No monarch has undertaken it when the city-states were at war-which is one reason it had not been done in so long-and no monarch has undertaken it without being secure in the knowledge of D'Angeline loyalties being united behind them, promising dire retribution on any nation that dared threaten the progressus. Although there were valid political reasons behind it, most especially the need to rebuild the Caerdicci alliances whose absence was evinced during Selig's invasion, I do not think Ysandre would have done it if it had not been for the steady urgings of Benedicte de la Courcel.